


Flip the Switch

by antivanitas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mid-Canon, Reunion Sex, Some Plot, Temporary Amnesia, Trans Keith (Voltron), Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivanitas/pseuds/antivanitas
Summary: Shiro's amnesia of his time imprisoned has affected his ability to remember algebra, Australia, and his intimate relationship with his red paladin.





	

Keith started to notice pretty quickly.

The first thing he did when Shiro regained consciousness was embrace him, fully and passionately.  Shiro had been on the ragged couch, blearily blinking against the fading starlight.  As dawn approached them, so did this new era of their relationship.  Because Shiro opened his eyes, his beautiful slush-grey eyes, and Keith saw nothing.

Nothing.

And back in the days of the Garrison, Keith saw _everything_ in Shiro’s eyes.  Written all over his face, transcribed in his body language; a love that was engraved so deep in Shiro’s soul that Keith had been convinced they would never be apart.  A cadet and an officer, sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, finding corners and closets to glow in.  It had been perfect.  So perfect, and then Keith read the words _pilot error_ and he fucking lost it.

That’s why he got discharged.  Not because of any disciplinary action that could be centered around some kind of delinquency rule.  And they wrote it off to the public, to his classmates, as Keith running to town several times when he wasn’t permitted.  Or something equally as mundane.

The Garrison saved their asses.  Keith demanded answers, because it wasn’t pilot error, he _knew_ it wasn’t, and they kept trying to tell him that the ship crashed when there wasn’t wreckage to be found.  And Keith said, “You better tell me what you fucking know, or the entire world is going to know that an officer from the Garrison fucked a student.”

It hadn’t gone as planned.  The government can be pretty terrifying when they want to be, as has always been the case throughout history, and especially throughout space exploration.  Because Keith went from that office to waking up next to an abandoned shack in the middle of the desert, with a change of clothes and a week’s worth of rations.

It was a message.

 _Don’t fuck with us, Kogane_.

And Keith is so tired of people trying to make him forget.

* * *

 

From the side of the training room, Keith watches, sitting with one knee up and a water pouch in his hand.  He’s sweated through his shirt, but he doesn’t take it off, because that’s not _appropriate_.  Shiro will chew him out.  _I’m a senior officer, Keith!  Come on, keep that for the showers._

It’s so fucking weird.  It makes Keith’s skin crawl.  At the very least, they’re both _men_ , and it’s not like a binder is a bra.  But for some reason, Shiro seems genuinely uncomfortable with the idea of Keith being shirtless around him.  And not in the sexy way, where Shiro blushes and looks away and mumbles for Keith to get dressed.  No—more like he gives a disapproving scowl and tells Keith to put a damn shirt on before he walks around someone’s castle half-naked.

Instead, Keith watches, almost bitterly, as Shiro battles with a droid.  It’s a jo staff battle.  Shiro’s ruby red pole smacks against the droid’s, which is stark white in comparison.  Keith sees Shiro’s sweat pants riding low, showing the dimples on his hips and the V on his pelvis.  He doesn’t feel ashamed when he looks, anymore.  He openly stares.  Practically drools at the way Shiro’s moving, how sweat matts his snow fringe, how he moves with incredible grace and poise.

He can remember how to fight, of course.  He can remember pretty much every other _damn_ thing, except a few algebraic equations.  He also forgot about the existence of Australia, for some reason.  But there’s one thing he doesn’t remember.  At all.  And Keith feels a part of him die every single fucking day.

And _every fucking time_ Shiro remembers something from his days in Sendak’s hands, Keith gets his hopes up like a fool.  Shiro gets that look on his face, that faraway stare at the floor like he can sear his gaze through it.  _I remember something._

But it’s never Keith.  It’s never _them_.  It’s always some tidbit about Matt, or some procedure they used to do.  Selfishly, Keith takes out his anger on these fighting droids.  Every time.  He’s an awful person, and he should be ashamed, but he doesn’t want Shiro to remember anything else unless it involves Keith.

Shiro bests the droid, knocking it to the ground, and they make eye contact for a single, split second.  Keith bites his lip and doesn’t look away, although Shiro _does_ , and he speaks into the air, “End training sequence.”

Everything stops, and the droid wanders back to whence it came.  Keith remembers when that phrase didn’t work for him, and remembers how Shiro wasn’t there for him when it happened, and remembers—fuck, _Keith_ remembers, he can remember _so much_.

Shiro, still sweating and panting breaths, moves to stand in front of Keith, who now stares at his bare toes against the cushy mat.  So, Shiro squats, his joints cracking, and Keith decides he can only last so long before he breaks after being presented with such a view of between Shiro’s legs.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shiro asks him, eyebrow raised, but not in concern like it should be.  “Come on, I know forming Voltron was exhausting yesterday, but you’re acting like a zombie.”

Keith resents that statement.  He scowls, defiantly staring back, ignoring the way his heart palpitates when their gazes meet.  Why does Shiro have to look at him like that?  Like a friend?  Like a fucking acquaintance?  Shiro’s brow furrows at the expression, and he rises again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith mutters.  In one fluid move, he stands.  But his nose practically brushes Shiro’s chest on the way up, which gives him pause.  Shiro smells the same.  Keith has no idea how, but he hasn’t been this close since they found each other again, and Shiro still has that very particular scent.  Keith can’t describe it.  Just that he knows he’s supposed to be surrounded by it, preferably with pillows and sheets.

Shiro stiffens. 

“Why do you have to _do_ that?”  Keith snatches the jo staff from Shiro’s hands, and steps to the side so he can a) throw it across the room and b) breathe without Shiro clouding every sense he’s ever had.  “God.  I’m not gonna sexually assault you.  Is it really that hard to just treat me like a normal person?”

And it’s that—that one statement—that causes Shiro’s entire stance to change.  He goes from mildly concerned to apologetic, terrified, lost, confusedhurtbrokendisappointedscared—everything.  Keith wants to bend to Shiro’s will, to admit that he won’t wait around for something that will never happen again.  It’s over.  It’s behind them.  To Shiro, it never even happened to begin with. 

Tears threaten to drown Keith’s vision and he turns away so rapidly that they fly away from his eyes.

“I talked with you about this,” Shiro practically whispers.  But Keith can hear every word, like it’s being drilled into his mind, like someone is shoving his head against the loudest speaker in the world, projecting each frequency until his heart is bursting.  “I don’t—I’m sorry.  I can’t just…I can’t.”

_“I love you,” Keith says, stroking Shiro’s cheek with his thumb, supporting the man’s jaw with his palm.  “And you loved me, once.  Back before everything.  You must have—the amnesia.  You must have forgotten.”_

“Of course you can’t,” Keith spits out.  He’s angry.  He’s fucking heartbroken and he needs to break someone’s neck.  The absolute rage that pours out of him is almost unnatural, guttural, like he’s being ripped apart from the inside out.  He dashes for the jo staff and whirls, and his first reaction is to smack Shiro in the temple.

Shiro’s ready.  Of course he is.  He’s always ready.

_“I can’t just…flip a switch, Keith.”_

The man grips the staff firmly with both hands, and he twists, intending to rip it away from Keith’s grip.  But Keith holds fast.  He follows the movement, recklessly, like a flame instead of the airflow that they taught him in martial arts class.  And after a half turn, a skip, and another tug, they’re both holding the staff and they’re chest to chest.  Their breath puffs are the gentlest thing about their beings, right now.  Shiro is tense, and Keith is fucking furious, and they’re glaring at one another like it’ll solve something if they do.

“I’m not the person to attack,” Shiro tries to tell Keith gently.  “I didn’t want this to happen to me, okay?  I don’t want to make you feel like this.”

“Like _what_?”  Keith snaps his wrist, but Shiro just pulls him closer, because when you pull someone closer in martial arts it gives you more of a chance to take a strike and slip away.  Keith isn’t that slippery, though.  He stands like a molten rock, plastered against Shiro’s chest.  He’d be turned on and elated were he not focused on how much he hates everything.  “Heartbroken?  Betrayed?  You fucking _left_ me, and you expect me to act like nothing happened.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Shiro says.  His voice breaks, though.  Keith’s lip twitches.  “I didn’t.  I don’t _remember_ , Keith.  And whenever I do get flashbacks, they aren’t about you.  They aren’t about algebra, either.  Those memories are gone and they’re not coming back.”

But you can relearn algebra, can’t you?  You can be shown Australia on a map.  _Ah, there it is.  I’ll relearn this and be on my way._   You can’t do that for a relationship.  They didn’t even break up, and Keith feels like his wife left him.  The love of his life.  Gone.  Probably about to be scooped up by someone else, like Allura or Lance, and it fucking kills him how selfish he is about that.  He’d abandon them instantly if he knew it would protect Shiro.  If he knew—and he hates himself for this—that it would mean they could get back together again.

“I fucking miss you,” Keith chokes.  “I miss how you used to look at me, and it’s not _fair_.  Why did you have to stop looking at me like that?”

That’s when they both drop the staff and wrap their arms around each other.  Keith knows that his best course of action is distancing himself.  He knows that, and yet, he _can’t_.  Not just because of Voltron, either—it would be easy, theoretically, to just ignore Shiro aside from very necessary interactions.  But he can’t.  He can’t help but walk past Shiro’s room, listening through the door in case he hears Shiro having nightmares.  He can’t help but watch, entranced, as Shiro slips out of his armor at the end of the day.

Keith breathes hot and hard against Shiro’s shoulder.  It’s muggy and warm.  Foggy like his brain.  Smells like sweat and a reminder of what they used to be.  Like when Keith would go down on him, Shiro holding his hair out of the way—he can’t forget Shiro’s face.  Shiro coming.  He can look at Shiro a thousand times over, but he’ll never forget what’s been etched into his mind.

“I wish I could remember,” Shiro rushes out.  It’s earnest.  He means it, and Keith can feel Shiro’s heart ripping itself apart in the process of speaking.  “I want to make you happy so badly.  I want to—I don’t know.  I just want something to work.”

Keith pulls back. He swallows as their faces hover just inches apart.  He wonders if Shiro is getting the same feeling, the same sense of tension.  In theory, it’s simple.  Lean forward, connect lips, and fall into a pile of love and memories.  In practice, though?  Keith’s mouth goes dry and he’s painfully aware of it, and he remembers in that moment how he’s not _ready_.  In that _single moment_ , he realizes he hasn’t shaved, he hasn’t showered, he hasn’t cleaned himself up after training.  What would Shiro think of him? 

But it doesn’t matter.  They’re not doing anything.  They’re not touching each other.

Except they already are.

Shiro’s hand is already pressed against his back, warm and satisfying.  Their foreheads are practically touching.  And it’s not like he’s supposed to make eyes like this with his senior officer.  They’re not supposed to stare at each other, searching for something they can’t find.  Keith is like an archeologist, the way he tries to dig past the dust and the dirt to get to Shiro’s itchy bones.

“I want to try,” Keith whispers.  Something in Shiro gives, at that tiny admission.  The rocks and rubble shift.  Keith can see something pale and glowing in Shiro’s eyes, and he _clings_ to it like he clings to the stars that shine on this side of the galaxy, keeping him grounded in otherwise unfamiliar territory.  And this is unfamiliar—they’ve never rekindled this.  They’ve just always _been_ , since day one. 

Easy, easy, easy.  Just lean in.  Do it.  _Fucking do it, you coward._

Flip the goddamn switch.

Keith reaches blindly in the dark of their closeness, until their lips sort of meet halfway, and it isn’t one or the other who starts it but rather _both_ of them, reacting like a careening asteroid and a solid planet.  Keith crashes, a crater in his wake, in his heart, when Shiro stops responding.

He pulls away.  Fuck.  Fuck, that was cosmic.  There’s no way Shiro didn’t feel it, feel _something_.  Even if it only lasted a few seconds, milliseconds, he had to have—

“Keep kissing me,” Shiro says with a broken voice and a hopeful timbre.

Keith does not need to hear orders twice.  He never did.  Except when they told him to get out of that office, to go back to his bunk, but he’d never need two orders from Shiro.

They revolve around each other.  Shiro’s mechanic hand coasts up Keith’s back, up his spine, to the base of his neck.  There, Shiro holds him in place, and Keith uses his tongue to do the rest.  He scrapes his teeth on Shiro’s bottom lip and pulls it forward.  Shiro gasps, shudders like he’s been shocked.

“I want you,” Keith says like he used to say.  Maybe familiar phrases, familiar words, or any kind of kindling to throw on this fire.  “I want you in me, I want you to _come_ inside me, Shiro, please—make me come.  Please.”

Then, Keith’s back is against the wall.  Shiro needs support.  He needs help, because he’s practically falling into Keith, desperate to keep their lips connected.  Like he only remembers when they’re kissing, like he can only breathe when he’s presented with a respirator.  It’s a new kind of need.  Unrecognizable.  And Keith fucking loves it.

“Do you remember?” he asks through desperate gasps.  “Fuck—do you remember how you used to come inside me?”

Shiro groans.  He fists his hands in Keith’s hair, pulling, and Keith internally screams _yes_ , because he loves that, and Shiro has always known that he loves that.  Shiro’s length, hard and solid, rubs against Keith’s core.  “I just—I need this.”

Keith’s heart takes off into orbit again.  “Me too.  Fuck, me too, Shiro.  _Fuck—fuck me._ ”

From there, they fall into each other.  Shiro picks up Keith by his thighs and holds him against the wall, and they’re so desperate that they almost forget to undress.  But Keith takes his time, putting on a show, as he strips off his shirt.  Because, ha, this isn’t the showers.  And the look on Shiro’s face is that of awe, of worship.  Keith soars into the atmosphere, fueled by confidence.  With one hand, he deftly unhooks the side of his navy binder, and it falls off his body without any aid.

God, he’s strong.  He doesn’t even hesitate.  Shiro lurches forward and sinks his teeth into Keith’s shoulder.  Keith’s legs tighten involuntarily, and he cries out, as Shiro leaves hot and wet bruises along his neck.  Marking.  Everyone will see.  Keith feels dizzy with relief.  His eyes roll back and Shiro breathes against the spots, causing Keith to shiver and claw at Shiro’s skin.

“So fucking beautiful,” Shiro praises, and Keith _melts_.  He’s shaking so badly.  It takes a serious amount of effort to reach between them, to make that final push against the waistband of Shiro’s sweats to send them to the floor. 

He would take Shiro’s cock right now, if he could.  If Shiro would let him.  Keith used to wake Shiro up in the middle of the night, mouth around the man’s shaft, grinning at his sleepy face.  He used to sink down without any foreplay or negotiation.  Ride Shiro for hours.  Hand in his hair, back arched, wet and swollen cunt completely bruised and wrecked from taking all of Shiro inside him.

Shiro has his mouth on Keith’s clavicle, now.  The cadet’s head connects with the wall as he stares at the ceiling, vision blurry and mouth open in a silent moan.  It’s so good.  Christ, it’s all so _familiar_.  It’s like Shiro never left.  It’s like Shiro was born with the natural talent and ability to make Keith come.

Keith can barely get his own sweats up his thighs before Shiro is pulling him apart.  Warm palms support his ass, and thick fingers explore his folds, coming away slick and soaked.  Shiro gives a faint grin, a fascinated eyebrow quirk, and then he starts to play.  The tips of his fingers pull Keith apart at his very core, spreading him open, and he knows he’s dripping on the floor right now.  It’s humiliating, and Keith wants so much _more_.

“You’re so wet already,” Shiro breathes in his ear.  “You’ve been ready for me, haven’t you?”

“I want you so bad,” Keith begs.  He’s nonsensical.  Shiro’s words make his entire body feel hot and it’s _filthy_ , how much he feels like he’s in pornography when Shiro says such simple phrases.  “I need you.  I need your cock.  Fuck me, _please_.”

_I need you inside me so I don’t forget._

They’re barely undressed.  Shiro’s still got his shirt on, but his cock is hard and throbbing and Keith wants it _so badly_.  He would put his mouth around it, suck hard, and deep throat like a good little boy if they had time.  But Keith can’t wait anymore—he needs Shiro, deep inside him, _fucking_ him.

The slick head of Shiro’s cock brushes Keith’s tight center.  The red paladin gasps, thrusts his hips forward and nods frantically.  It’s warm, so fucking warm, and he can feel Shiro’s heartbeat rattling in his chest.

“You’re dripping on me,” Shiro whispers to Keith in wonder.  “You always get so wet for me, baby.  You’re always ready for my cock, aren’t you?”

What comes out of Keith is a combination of a moan and a sob, and tears mix with the tiny trail of drool coming from his mouth.  Shiro takes the opportunity to thrust upwards, entering Keith slowly at first, and it just keeps _going_.  Right when Keith thinks he remembers, when he thinks Shiro’s cock should hit the base, it doesn’t.  And soon he’s so filled up that he feels it in his lower stomach.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps.  “So deep—holy _shit_ , you’re so deep inside me.”

Experimentally, Keith licks his fingers, reaches between them, and starts to play with his clit.  The combination can’t compare to any pleasure Keith has ever felt.  And as Shiro starts to move, rubbing against the rough spot inside of him, Keith _swears_ he could come right then and there.

Shiro remembers.  He _remembers_.  He’s fucking Keith so well, like he used to, hitting all the perfect spots that make Keith scream.  He can usually keep quiet, especially when he’s using his own hand, but Shiro somehow manages to pull out loud groans that Keith didn’t even know he could make.

Keith starts to desperately buck his hips in time with Shiro’s thrusts.  He starts panting, and words tumble from his lips that don’t make sense.  “Yeah, _yeah,_ fuck, fuck me, fuck—!”

“You like my cock, baby?” Shiro asks darkly.  Keith can feel him pounding inside, so wildly and so without reserve that his moan cracks and falls to the ground.  “Tell me—tell me how you used to tell me.”

Keith’s stomach explodes with a fire that creeps up to his face, down his spine and through his throbbing core.  “Holy fuck—I love it, Daddy, I fucking _love it_.”

And maybe that’s going too far, a step in the wrong direction for sex that’s supposed to be sweet and reuniting and loving.  Maybe it’s not the kink to bring to the table right now.  Keith second-guesses himself, wondering if they should have just stayed with raw and hard fucking until they were ready for something else.

But Shiro’s resulting groan, or _growl_ , is animalistic.  He _pulls_ Keith down onto his cock, harder and faster, and Keith’s ankles go numb from how desperately they’re trying to keep him on Shiro’s body.  It’s the kind of fuck that makes his mind go blank and makes his eyes go glassy and hooded.  “Fuck me, _fuck me, Daddy,_ oh fuck, fuck, _Daddy_ , please—!”

He doesn’t feel like there’s a single moment where he has his orgasm—it’s more like a collective, solid minute where he loses himself to the staggering feeling.  He never thought he could feel this again.  Clenching around Shiro’s cock, which is _huge_ and _thick_ and _throbbing_.  And just when he thinks he’s finally coming down, Shiro thrusts into him one more time and _coats_ his insides.  Keith fills up too fast, it’s too much, and it leaks down his thighs and onto the floor.  “ _Keith_ , oh my God.”

Keith is heaving a lungful of air, his heart pounding, as they both collapse.  Keith’s back is still against the wall, probably red and bruised.  And before he can say anything, Shiro’s on him, lips connected as they try to remember how to breathe again.  But Shiro remembers how.  And Keith does, too, and it feels so _amazing_.

“Thanks for jogging my memory,” Shiro says into Keith’s ear, voice jagged and rough.

Keith can barely form a coherent thought, so he settles for a dazed smile, which causes Shiro’s chest to rumble with laughter.  Shiro kisses him for a while longer, as if trying to give Keith the energy to speak.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking let me go without that ever again,” Keith huffs.  “Christ, if you ever forget again, I’m just hunting you down and jumping right on.”

Shiro kisses behind Keith’s ear and pulls back to smile.  Keith finally feels like he recognizes the stars again.

“I’m never going to forget you.  Ever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i am really sad right now so i wrote some extensive unnecessary porn to cheer me up. ): sheith is so good and pure, and i'm cured.
> 
> on tumblr @ genderfluidstanmarsh hmu!


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